


Messages from Nurmengard

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M, Voyeurism, unrequited love (Severus/James)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was Albus's secret, and Severus shared it now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messages from Nurmengard

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for teshara in hpvalensmut. Thanks to libby_drew, angela_snape, gingertart50, and noticeably for the beta.

There were no letters that passed through the diamond-paned windows of the Headmaster's office – there were no owls that left Nurmengard. Severus knew it, and that knowledge grew in him at night, creeping like a black coil through his heart.  
  
It had not taken much to discover the secret. A word here and there, a look, an anniversary marked – Severus knew the history, and he knew the inner story of it too. Albus had never admitted to it, but Severus knew.  
  
He pressed his lips together, tongue probing at the hollow tooth that held a perfect, undetectable poison. A spy had too many secrets to be safe, and Severus had his safeguard. Poison and Portkey always ready, he was prepared.  
  
There was no choice in life or love. Severus kept the wards on the windows, looking every day to see if Albus had a letter from Nurmengard, looking for hope in that direction. He looked east, toward the sun and toward the prison – if there could be no hope for him, there could be hope for Albus. He'd never –  
  
Albus pushed a cup of tea toward him, spoon clinking against the china. Severus took his tea sweet and strong, and he watched the swirls of sugar melting in the tea, the sugar cube dissolving as he stirred. There was no way for Severus to know if Albus and Gellert had ever shared a cup of tea.   
  
There was no way for him to know if they had ever shared more than tea.   
  
"I will not do it," Severus said. Porcelain cracked and liquid bubbled, a tiny tempest brewing in his teacup and frothing over Albus's desk, foam and froth soaking into the deep honey oak. "I will not do it."  
  
"You have no choice, Severus. You swore an Unbreakable Vow."  
  
The cracking of the teacup down its center, spilling the rest of the tea onto the desk, was not enough to soothe Severus. "You forced me to swear that Vow – you knew what the Dementors did to me in Azkaban. I'd have done anything, sworn anything –"  
  
"There's nothing stronger than love in this world," Albus said, and the black coil tightened around Severus, squeezing until his breath caught in his throat. There was no way for Severus to know.  
  
"You don't know that, old man." He forced his lips into a sneer and swept the remains of his cup onto the floor. He stepped on the saucer as he stood to leave, and it cracked under his heavy boots.  
  
\----------  
  
Light streamed through the open door and spread out like a shuttered fan down the stairs, light and shadow on alternating steps in a kaleidoscope pattern that shifted and changed as Severus crept closer. Holding his breath, he was as silent as the gargoyles.  
  
A warm hand came down on his shoulder. Without jumping, he turned. "Good morning, Headmaster."  
  
"Severus. Good." Dumbledore thrust his hands into his wide sleeves, standing with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Severus. "A very good beginning. I do believe that you'll make an excellent spy."  
  
"I will do nothing of the sort," Severus said stiffly. He backed away from Dumbledore, taking a step up the staircase. He held himself still – he did not tremble, his breath did not hammer in his chest, he was not counting his heartbeats.  
  
"I've come to apply for the Defense against the Dark Arts position."  
  
"It's been filled," Dumbledore said. He took Severus's elbow and pushed him up the stairs, following so close behind him that their robes whispered together, swirling around them with every step. "I've managed to find a very competent instructor this year. I do have an opening on the staff, though … Professor Slughorn is retiring, and we'll need a new Potions Master."  
  
Severus balked on the threshold, crossing his arms. His hand hidden by the folds of his sleeves, he touched his left forearm. Nothing burned.  
  
"I can offer you more than Tom can," Dumbledore said.   
  
Shaking his head, Severus turned away, but Dumbledore caught him by the shoulders, holding him there. Stiff and solid, Severus resisted him.  
  
"Come," Dumbledore said, putting a hint of his will into the words. "We must speak."  
  
He steered Severus over to the low easy chair by the fire, pushing him down into it and taking the opposite seat. "You know the mistake that you made, Severus – you wept for it, not an hour after you made it. I'm giving you the one chance that you'll ever have to redeem yourself. Don't undervalue it."  
  
Severus rubbed his temples in tiny firm circles. "Crocodile tears, perhaps," he said. "I do not weep."  
  
Looking straight at Dumbledore, he said, "You knew that I came here to make you that offer, you daft old coot. You knew that I regretted it – there was no need to manipulate or pressure me into it."  
  
"I know that listening through doors has not served you well in the past."   
  
"You presume to –"  
  
"You presume on my goodwill."  
  
Severus did not break away from Dumbledore's gaze. "I've no desire to be torn into mincemeat by both sides. If I stay, I'll not return to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If I go, you'll have my death on your conscience."   
  
"I've borne weightier burdens," Dumbledore said, but there was no heat in his gaze when he spoke. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. "You've no idea, Severus Snape. Your petty childhood grievances and your petty sins are all worthless."  
  
"Next you'll tell me that I'm worthless – that I'm worth nothing more than a quick sacrifice on the altar of the greater good." Severus folded his hands in his lap, hiding his bare skin in his sleeves, and his face was the only paleness that remained. The rest of his body was shrouded in black.   
  
"Any man would be pleased to be worth as much … any other man would have been pleased to have been rescued from the Dementors … but you want more? I'll give you a teaching position here at Hogwarts and a memory of my own in the Pensieve."  
  
With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, the Pensieve floated from a shadowy shelf over to the desk, scratching the smooth surface as it landed.   
  
"What –" Severus asked. He let the word hang there. He could not finish the sentence.  
  
"The memory of the afternoon after the incident in the Shrieking Shack," Albus said. "My interview with young Mr. Black, among other things."  
  
Memories, soft and silken, floated in the Pensieve. Each was as malleable and changing as a river, and yet each was peculiarly constrained. They swirled together in silken locks, intertwined above and beneath, winding around one another in silver-solid mist.  
  
Severus hesitated. He had never meant to come this far … he had never meant to be tempted, and now it was too late to return to the Dark Lord's side. There was no way forward but through knowing. He leaned closer to the Pensieve and saw an image floating in the silver bowl – James, as Severus had seen him last in life, his lips parted as though warm with breath.  
  
He took the time to nod to Dumbledore before he leaned further and tumbled into the Pensieve, falling through the coils and twists of memories that were not his. He reached out for purchase, his arms windmilling in their voluminous sleeves. There was nothing graspable, nothing solid, and still he fell.  
  
Severus landed hard in the shadows. His robes fluttered around him, the fabric billowing with the force of his fall. He was at Hogwarts, in the shadow of the castle – in the shadow of the tree.  
  
Dumbledore was not there, and it was close to dark – the sun dipped lower as Severus watched, as he tapped his foot in the dampening grass. The dew gathered, late-summer and lovely, and the night-song of the forest began, chiming down Severus's vertebrae one by one.  
  
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, folding his hands into his sleeves. He knew this night.  
  
A motion made him turn and look. James Potter stood in the shadows near Severus. He lit a cigarette from his wand and took two lazy puffs from it before stomping it out on the dewy grass. "Where is he?"  
  
They came, then, and passed through Severus as though he was insubstantial – Pomfrey guiding Remus, grasping him by both elbows. Drawn and frail, Remus looked deeper into the shadows, looked straight at James and nodded. Severus was caught by his eyes – the lines fanning out from each corner, and then Remus furrowed his brow and bent his head. He stumbled, and Pomfrey helped him.  
  
James went back into the castle, and Severus was forced to follow, drawn after him like a needle to a magnet. It was James's memory, then – strong and solid, surviving in spite of his passing.   
  
Severus ghosted hard on his heels, close enough to touch his ruffled hair, close enough to touch him.   
  
Before long, Sirius Black hurtled into the Gryffindor common room, grabbing James by the shoulders and whirling him away from Lily. "I did it, I did it," he chanted. He pressed his lips close to James's ears and whispered, and Severus knew what he said.  
  
Severus turned away. The Willow was visible through the window, its flailing branches dim in the fading light. There was a glow on the horizon, the rising moon, and although he did not need to see, the wide-paned window reflected the two boys. Blurred and indistinct, he saw James push Sirius away and dash for the stairs.   
  
It was a small comfort.  
  
The world swirled around him, and the next memory did not belong to James. When Severus landed, he stood in the office he had lately left, and Dumbledore stood there, inches away from Severus. He reached out, reaching through Severus, and pressed his hand against the window pane.   
  
Dumbledore faced east, away from the sun. He reached out to empty air that was washed clear and golden by the afternoon. Like starched linen, the air crackled under his fingertips, the glass wavering and filling with bubbles. Each bubble popped as Dumbledore pressed a finger to it, and tiny hot droplets of molten glass fell, arcing to the ground. They fell to the east, catching the afternoon sun as they fell. Severus pressed his nose to the window and watched them land.  
  
He turned away from the window, and the deep lines were erased from his face as he shrugged his shoulders. He pressed his fingers to his lips – Severus was close enough to see the tiny scars there, teardrop-shaped marks left on each finger by the popping glass.  
  
"Enter," Dumbledore said, and as the stone gargoyle ground and as the footsteps echoed up the staircase, he set his face in deeper lines. He sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers and straightened his shoulders.  
  
"Sirius Black," he said, Banishing the chairs in front of his desk with a wave of his wand. "I've no idea what flits through that lackadaisical, irreverent mind of yours, what quick busy thoughts keep you awake at night as you plan enough mischief to give Professor McGonagall ten heart attacks. I've no idea if you have any sort of stability, any thoughts that are serious – all matter, and no mirth – but even you, with your frivolous inattention to your schooling and your fixation on troublemaking, must be aware that we are in the middle of a war."  
  
He slammed his fist onto his desk, making the teacups rattle on their patterned saucers. On his desk, a silver wheel whirled, spinning on its axis and making endless mobius loops.  
  
"The world is darkened. Our world is threatened by Voldemort and his ever-growing shadow. If you intended to send one of our best and brightest students straight into his ranks, straight into the army that will be opposing us, then you have certainly achieved your aim.  
  
One thoughtless, idiotic _prank_ – a joke to you and your friends – could have cost Severus Snape his life. Do you imagine that he will be grateful to Mr. Potter for saving him, or anything other than resentful when I protect Mr. Lupin from the full force of the law? Do you imagine that in your years at Hogwarts, full years in which you took every opportunity to torment Mr. Snape – do you imagine that in those years, you have done anything other than renounce your family's beliefs?"  
  
Black seemed to shrink, taking a step back from Dumbledore's desk. "I –"  
  
"Silence," Dumbledore said, and his quiet tone was worse than any raised voice. Severus, insubstantial, felt the echoes of it roll down his spine, each shiver worse than the last.  
  
"You have done nothing but enjoy the protection of these walls and abuse it for mischief, sheltered from the wrath of your family and the darkness of the coming war. You have played at jokes and tricks and nonsense and produced nothing of worth, Mr. Black … and in all your actions, you have driven several of the Slytherins away from the light. Your brother. Severus Snape. Evan Rosier. There is no telling how many of these students will become easy prey for Voldemort and his war once they leave Hogwarts and there is no counting the worth of them. They might have been saved, if it was not for you."  
  
"Sir, I – I promise, I didn't –"  
  
"You have enjoyed the safety of Hogwarts, and you have twisted that safety for other students. You used this school as a haven from your family and the coming darkness … and so it might have been for them, if it was not for you."  
  
Dumbledore slumped in his seat, looking down at his desk. "Revenge and petty-minded pranks are beneath you. I thought that we had instilled a sense of morality in our students here, but apparently I was deceived."  
  
He waved his hand, not looking up at Black. "You may go, Mr. Black. All privileges revoked, and detention with Filch for a month."  
  
When the gargoyle had closed the door with a quiet, muted grinding – softer than the clamor made before – Severus was left watching Dumbledore slumped at his desk, tracing patterns in the wood and supporting his head with his free hand. His spine was sloped like the curve of a harp, and Severus could not bear to watch him. When he turned away, the memory dissolved in sparks and bubbles.  
  
There was no space for breathing. Dumbledore put a hand on his arm – he was close, too close, and Severus let his eyes flutter shut for a second. "Yes?"  
  
"You'll swear a Vow with me," Dumbledore said, his hand hard and insistent on Severus's arm. "You'll swear, and if you're ever forsworn, you'll die of it, Severus. I must be able to trust you more than anyone." He took a step away, his robes whispering around him as his hand fell away from Severus's arm.   
  
"There are rooms in the castle for you – the house elves have cleared them already – and you've the summer to prepare for classes as you wish. When you are ready … when you are ready, come to me. There is much for you to learn if you are to be a spy."  
  
Severus was not ready. He went down the spiral staircase, still awash with a fan of light, a flickering of shadows and darkness, and as he went, he bit through his lower lip until it bled. There was no space for breathing – there was no space for thought. The Dark Lord would not be pleased when he learned of this, and Severus could not keep it from him for long.  
  
\----------   
  
It was Occlumency that hid Dumbledore's secrets. Severus woke, his cheek creased with the imprint of the pages he had slept on, and straightened his spine, hearing the vertebrae pop in the full silence.  
  
The fire had died, and his dungeon rooms felt the full chill of the deep earth and stone insulating him from the summer sun. There was no warmth strong enough to penetrate these rooms.  
  
Severus traced the spine of the book, and followed the stark ridges of the letters stamped in the leather. Occlumency, that was Dumbledore's secret – that was the means by which Severus was to hide his loyalties from the Dark Lord. If it was strong enough to hide Dumbledore's secrets –  
  
Today was the anniversary of Grindelwald's fall. Albus did not come down to breakfast, and one of the scurrying, bow-legged house elves had come down from the tower, balancing a tray still full. He'd squeaked when he saw Severus, and the teapot had fallen with a crash, soaking the stones with tepid tea.   
  
Dumbledore kept his secrets with Occlumency, but Severus – he traced the spine of the book again, pressing his finger against the title until the letters were imprinted on his skin – Severus would master the art of Occlumency as well. No secrets would be hidden from him.  
  
\----------  
  
Severus broke when Dumbledore found the memory – Severus on his knees, whimpering with the Cruciatus, the Prophecy on his lips. Wavering walls fell, and his defenses were shattered.  
  
He had spoken to the Dark Lord, and with no silver tongue and no clear intellect to save him, he had spilled the secret of a life that was not his to endanger.  
  
"Your best is not good enough," Dumbledore said. "You must keep me from getting so far. Try again."  
  
He raised his wand before Severus had time to take a breath. " _Legilimens._ "  
  
Severus scrambled to think of nothing, to clear his mind, and still he could do nothing but stand there, staring Dumbledore in the eye. He felt trapped, like a fly pinned between heavy glass sheets, exposed to the sun and incinerated. He was laid bare.  
  
Dumbledore rifled through Severus's mind and saw all of his secrets. Hidden by those twinkling eyes, those wrinkles and that smile, Dumbledore himself had secrets to spare –  
  
It was done. Severus's defenses snapped into place, pushing Dumbledore out, and like a gleaming silver fish caught on a line, he followed the arch of Dumbledore's thoughts, pushing back through the spell and into his mind.  
  
A cottage by the river, sunlight captured in its windows and a bower of flowers growing in the garden – a dark-haired girl clutching a doll – a young man who stood straight and proud, peering through the cottage windows –  
  
"Enough."   
  
Pushed out of Dumbledore's mind, Severus fell back. He sprawled, his limbs askew and his robes wrapped around him and choking him like a shroud. "I didn't –"  
  
"Enough," Dumbledore said again. He did not look at Severus. "Go. We resume at the same time tomorrow."  
  
Going meant leaving the sanctuary of the Headmaster's tower, the lingering smell of strong tea, and the rhythm of his lessons. Severus went through Hogwarts, touching stone after silent stone, and was forced to be alone with his thoughts. There was no haven for him here, no refuge from that death that he was meant to eat, no solace for his sins and no redemption. This false penance grated on him.  
  
Tracing his route to the library, he sat at the small table that had been his as a student. No one else had claimed it after he'd hexed it with a distraction jinx – and it was perfect for him, in a defensible corner and near the Restricted Section. He'd longed for knowledge then, had drunk it up from any source.  
  
Now, Severus knew too much. There was no remedy for it, no way to wash the knowledge from him, and there would have been a kind of betrayal in forgetfulness. He had betrayed James, along with his wife and son, and he could not forget that.  
  
With a sharp-tipped quill, Severus drew up lesson plans, filling scroll after scroll with notes in tiny print. Despite the pity involved in offering him the position, despite the fact that there had been nowhere else for him to go after he failed the Dark Lord, there would be no need to suspect that he had not earned his place here – he would not make Hogwarts ashamed to call him one of her own.   
  
In this corner, he'd huddled behind his stacks of books, putting up forbidden shields and hiding from the Marauders. Black and Potter had been quick to torment him, Lupin and Pettigrew joining them. He'd not been given a fair chance, one against four.  
  
He'd not given Potter a fair chance, telling the Dark Lord of the Prophecy.  
  
And it was nothing to Severus, absolutely nothing, that Dumbledore had lambasted Black. It meant nothing to him. He'd seen the boy shrink with shame, curling in on himself like a snail retreating into its shell, and the fact that there had been more to it than the public punishment, the loss of privileges and the detention that hardly matched some of his other exploits – it was nothing against the fact that Severus had nearly been killed.  
  
It was nothing. His life was weightless now, drifting in the balance between Dumbledore and Voldemort. Two masters, two spies, two sets of duties – no, Severus would never bear the weight of it for long. After the snapping point … perhaps some expiation could be made, his life set against that of the newborn child and weighed upon some cosmic scales.  
  
Pince shooed him out of the library before the ink dried on his parchments – all of his glares had no effect. She remembered him as the snot-nosed boy who had –  
  
Severus set his jaw and turned for the dungeons. He'd asked for quarters in the familiar stony corridors, underneath the crushing weight of the lake and deep in the earth where the snakes kept their dens. He'd be close to his students, in any case – in the worst of cases, he would be there. The stones sang to him, late at night. In their silence, there were echoes that resonated through the castle and lulled him to sleep.   
  
He spent the night awake, uneasy in his new position as double-spy. Voldemort would find out before long – in the end, Dumbledore had done nothing for him. There was nothing that could be done for Potter and his family.  
  
"Severus," Dumbledore said, his wand held loosely between his fingers, "you are not trying."  
  
His teeth bared in a death-mask grin, Severus let it slip – he let Dumbledore see that all he'd gained were the whirling, false memories set up as a shield. He let Dumbledore see the wall, and nothing within, nothing of himself.   
  
Dumbledore's wand slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly on the floor. "I see," he said. "Yes, I see indeed. You are a natural at this … very well done indeed."  
  
Retrieving his wand, he used it to Summon a pot of tea from the kitchens, a plate of pastries, and a bowl of sugar cubes with silver tongs. "Milk?" he asked, and Severus shook his head, pushing away the pastries.  
  
"No," he said. "Do not try to sweeten the truth, old man. If you are to command me in this war even to my death, then do not lie to me."  
  
Albus froze as he poured, the liquid splashing over the rim of the cup and into the saucer. "Your death? Don't be melodramatic, it needn't –"  
  
"Do not lie to me," Severus said again. His knuckles were white where his hands clasped the arms of the chair too tightly. He unclenched his fists, stretching each finger out until the joints popped. The sound echoed in the office, caught and held in the thin air.  
  
Clearing his throat, Dumbledore said, "Well. Yes. Nothing … it's complicated or deadly, you know, Severus. You ought to look on the bright side, at least once or twice – see if a little sunshine brightens up your life …."  
  
"We are in the middle of a war."  
  
"Yes, well." Dumbledore took up three cubes of sugar with the silver tongs, dropping them into his tea and stirring until they dissolved. He splashed more tea onto the saucer, grimaced, and Banished it. "I need you to return to Voldemort and see if you can determine anything of his plans for the Potters. We've had no information at all, nothing beyond our suspicion that there's been a leak."  
  
Raising his teacup, he slopped tea over the rim and had the grace to look abashed. "See if you can determine who the traitor is, won't you, Severus?"  
  
"And I'm to believe that you don't already know the answer to that." Severus smoothed the cloth covering his left forearm, picking imaginary pieces of lint from his black robes. Dumbledore busied himself with his teacup and did not look – Severus snorted. If Dumbledore chose not to see …. He rose, pushing the chair back, and turned to the door. "I'll do my best to oblige you."  
  
Obligation after obligation – they held Severus fast. He reported to the Dark Lord when his Mark burned and groveled at his feet. There was nothing but obligation here.  
  
It was Avery who won the Cruciatus for being the last to appear, and Severus winced, his face turned down to hide his expression. Avery writhed for a long minute under the curse, his head thudding hard against the ground.  
  
"You have failed me," the Dark Lord said, striding among them. "I want to know the location of James and Lily Potter. I have given you all the time that you said you needed, and you have returned with nothing. Empty hands, empty minds, useless, hopeless – go," he said, gesturing to the door. His sleeve billowed, and the light shone on his hair, glinted off his teeth. "Do not disappoint me again, or you will suffer his fate."  
  
He kicked Avery as he strode to the door. Severus waited until his heartbeat had calmed before he Apparated away.  
  
There was no need for Severus, in the end. The Potter's location was revealed – by Sirius Black, the bastard himself – and Voldemort had killed the Potters within hours. Their son survived. Black went to Azkaban.  
  
Severus went to the ruins of the house that the Potters had kept in Godric's Hollow, the stones blasted by some curse and dark with soot. The house still stood, the wooden structure unaffected, the beams and roof still whole – but all the stones had tumbled down. It was an eerie and powerful curse. Severus tasted the Dark magic lingering in the air, stronger than he'd ever felt it before. Like salt strewn on a field, nothing of light or joy would flourish here for years.  
  
Their corpses lay here, just inside the house – James and Lily, as entwined in death as they'd been inseparable in life. Severus knelt next to them, smoothed the frown from James's brow. The flesh was stiff and sluggish, not moving to his command … death had stolen James from him.  
  
He had never belonged to Severus. Tracing the shape of his lips, Severus pulled a lock of Lily's bright hair from his mouth – it was tangled there, as though pressed to his lips for a final kiss. He smoothed the hair out before letting it fall, swinging against James's face.   
It was not his place to be there, hovering at James's side. There was nothing – Severus closed his eyes as he Apparated.   
  
There was nothing there for him.  
  
He faced his classes the next day with a hangover potion still roiling in his gut. They'd the same reaction as all the wizarding world – overwhelming joy at the defeat of the Dark Lord. No one thought of the two bodies lying cold in their coffins.   
  
He turned on the nearest smiling student with a sneer and a promise of detention.   
  
Each student – as young as Severus had been, as young as James had been – he'd make each of them spend a hundred hours in detention and scrub the cauldrons a hundred times for every one of the Marauder's pranks. It would never be enough for James, whose face stayed forever young, forever hardened with death, while Severus watched himself age in the mirror, day after day.   
  
He grew older, and James and Lily did not. Their child grew older, watched over by that horrible sister. The students grew older. While the days blended together and their world glutted itself on peace, growing lax and lazy and foolish, Severus watched over them, student after student, moving through the halls of Hogwarts, moving on with their lives.  
  
\----------  
  
There had been nothing that betrayed the identity of the young man that Severus had seen – no portraits or photos, nothing. There had been a hint in Dumbledore's memory. He'd been fond of the man, that much was certain.  
  
Severus pushed the last of his lecture plans aside and rose when Dumbledore entered. He pushed his bitterness aside – like over-brewed tea, gurgling down the drain. It was his own fault that he served two masters, rising to do their bidding like a puppet on invisible strings.  
  
"Good," Dumbledore said, lifting up a scroll and peering at the lesson plan. "These are excellent, Severus. Your students will be lucky to have such a competent professor. I'm certain that many of them will pass their exams with flying color – no, don't frown at me. Look on the bright side of things, remember?"  
  
"We're in the middle of a war," Severus said again. He had no other answer for Dumbledore's optimism.  
  
"So we are," Dumbledore said. "Do you have any news for me?"  
  
Holding his shields firm, Severus withstood the gentle push of Legilimency against his mind. "Nothing of importance," he said. "The Dark Lord is still looking for the location of the Potters, and is most displeased with us for not having provided it to him."  
  
Whisper-soft, keeping his probe at a considerable distance, Severus cast _Legilimens_ on Dumbledore. He used a thread of magic, a fine silver probe, and caught glimpses of blurred images, faint pictures seen out of focus, as though reflections in water or glass. He saw no trace of the young man that he had seen before, no trace of the cottage or the girl. There was a story there, Severus was certain of it.  
  
\----------  
  
The earth lay cold and undisturbed over James Potter and his perfect, pretty wife, and the green grass flourished. Severus reached down, scraping his knuckles against the granite headstone. James Potter was dead, cold in his grave – Severus was sure that he still had the stiff rictus, the death mask of Killing Curse victims – and he had nothing to do with the world, with fresh air and sunlight.  
  
He had no business haunting Severus. He had no right to send his son to torment his old enemy. Severus's fists clenched into hard balls, his joints grinding as he turned from Potter's grave.   
  
It was nothing to him – nothing at all. Harry Potter was only a tool, a fly caught in Albus's trap, a wretched boy with no regard for rules or reason. It was nothing to Severus if the boy chose to creep around the castle at all hours of the night, risking his neck and suspecting Severus of the most heinous crimes. It was nothing to Severus if the boy looked exactly like his father had when he was young.  
  
Turning to look at the grave again, Severus closed his eyes and Apparated back to Hogwarts. He landed at the entrance, slipping through the heavy iron gates with a whispered password, and he locked himself onto the school grounds, the gates closing behind him with a thud.   
  
Albus was waiting for him at the door to the school, dwarfed by the stone archway. Severus slowed his steps, but came to stand in front of him at last. "Your will, Headmaster?" he asked with a short, mocking bow.  
  
"Severus, I've told you –"  
  
"Time and time again, yes. You've told me that an Unbreakable Vow does not make you my master, and I tell you that I believe it. What more do you want from me?"  
  
They went down the corridor, their footfalls echoing in the nighttime stillness. Albus froze the stairs with a wave of his hand, and led Severus to his office.  
  
"Harry already suspects you," he said, pouring two cups of tea.   
  
Severus pushed his aside and went to stand by the window. He'd had enough tea and sympathy – he'd had enough of anniversaries. Eleven years ago today he'd sworn an oath, and he would keep it with his life. When he turned again, Albus was watching him.  
  
"It's perfect," he said, taking a step towards Severus, his hand stretched out. "Your Occlumency is perfect – your acting is perfect. You'd fool Voldemort himself, if he were here."  
  
"He soon will be, according to you." Severus shoved his hands into his sleeves, crossing his arms over his chest, and turned back to the window. "And you will send me to stand in front of him, with only my shields and my act to protect me, and you will sacrifice me, as you've always been ready –"  
  
"Severus." Albus didn't need to speak, didn't need to chide Severus – his voice, his upraised hand, his slumped spine, he spoke volumes without words.   
  
"Yes," Severus said. "I know."   
  
He had always known, had always faced this, and he would endure it for a little longer. "What do you want me to do?"  
  
Albus reached out, almost touching him. Severus felt the warmth of his hand and turned away, leaning against the cold window. Halloween was full of chills and omens, this year more than others. The thought ran down his spine, and he refused to shudder.   
  
"Let him see you," Albus said. "Get someone – Argus, perhaps, or Irma – to bandage your leg for you. Not in the hospital wing, but in some public place where Harry can see you. He'll come to the right conclusions from that, now that he knows about the three-headed dog in the third floor corridor."  
  
Albus had offered to be the Secret Keeper for the Potters, had wanted to protect them with his magic and his life. He'd taken the most precious Stone, one step away from Voldemort's rebirth, and hidden it here – and he could not keep it safe from one schoolboy.   
  
Severus didn't look at him. "What purpose will that serve?"  
  
"Harry's hatred and distrust of you will preserve your cover with the sons and daughters of the Death Eaters here at Hogwarts … and in the end, I've a feeling that it may prove more useful yet than that. Time will reveal everything, Severus."  
  
The silver gadgets on Albus's desk clucked and whirled at his words, quicksilver-thin wings fluttering through the air and spirals rotating in endless loops. The magic or motors that kept them spinning were never silent, never ceased their cacophony of hums and whistles. Severus knocked two of them over, sending a short shower of sparks into the desk, as he reached for his cup of tea.   
  
The sparks left scorch marks in the polished old wood, and Albus obliterated them with a wave of his hand. The tea was strong and thick with sugar, cloying and overwhelming, and Severus held the cup without taking a second sip, cradling it in the palm of his hand.   
  
While he was silent, Albus looked to the east – Severus followed his gaze, and saw the first sliver of the moon rising over the horizon. It reflected in the diamond-paned windows, echoed in one pane after the other. Standing close to the window, Severus traced one of the crescents with his fingernail.   
  
"As you will have it," he said. "Potter will hate me until the day he dies."  
  
Severus went down the stairs without another word from Albus, descending into the dungeons in the flickering torchlight and half-grotesque shadows, and he made his way silently, ready to catch unwary students that dared to break the curfew. He was ready, all the while, to catch Potter.  
  
Potter was the spit and image of his father – fit for trouble, ruffling his hair and flaunting his scar to impress his admirers, skating through his classes with the help of his friends rather than on his own merits, breaking curfew, breaking hearts – Severus caught himself. It had not yet come to that, but he'd watch the rosebushes and hidden corners in the school when it did. He'd not let a second Potter make a fool of half of Hogwarts, shattering hopes and making easy conquests.   
  
It was Halloween, and Severus still kept the anniversary. His relief when he'd heard that the Dark Lord was dead – it had come hard on the heels of his release from Azkaban, his reprieve from the Dementors, and his promise to Dumbledore. His Unbreakable Vow –  
  
Severus stopped his sweep through the castle. He'd seen it every day for the past decade, and he knew all of the corridors, all of the closets and all of the secret corners. He saw them every day. There was no occasion to revisit them. There was no need for Severus to let the anniversary of Potter's death make a sentimental, soppy fool out of him.   
  
Here was the wall outside the Transfiguration classroom, the corridor where he'd stood, seeing Potter for the first time. Here was the corner where the four of them had trapped Severus, hexing him until he fell to the flagstones and gasped shameful pleas for a reprieve. They hadn't granted him one.   
  
Here was the corridor where he'd seen Evans first smile at Potter, and here was the classroom where he'd found them snogging.  
  
Anniversaries had no meaning, at the end of it all. Let Albus keep his calendar and his foolish, whirring silver time-pieces. Let Albus mark the date with solemnity and let him look to the east, all of his thoughts elsewhere on that day and on every other day of the year. Anniversaries were for fools, and Severus was not a fool.  
  
He found no way to approach Potter the next day. He had awakened, stiff and sore from the dungeon cold, and the chill had settled into his bones, into his wound. He concealed his limp, as he went through the day – hiding it from the Slytherins who would sense weakness and exploit it, but letting it show when Potter could see it.   
  
The ache grew worse, and Severus's makeshift bandages and potions did not ease it. If he'd gone to Pomfrey at the beginning and let her heal it – but secrets were his only currency, his only safety. No one could know that Albus trusted him.  
  
It was Quirrell, and Severus knew it. The stuttering fool thought to conceal himself from Severus, but his forearm throbbed with every step he took toward Quirrell, and with every breath that he took in his presence. The Dark Mark responded to the presence of the Dark Lord, and it was painful.   
  
Severus pretended that he did not feel the twitch. He did not react in the presence of the students, and he put on a show for Quirrell – he was the loyal Death Eater, suspicious and paranoid, his sympathies unquestionable and his disguise perfect.   
  
His leg ached and his arm twinged, and it was a week before he managed to reveal his wound to Potter. A book confiscated, a show of spite, and Potter fell into his trap. Eyes hidden by his long hair, Severus watched Potter through the door that he'd left ajar.  
  
Filch's ministrations were none too gentle, but Severus endured them, patient for the sake of the show. He let Potter see him, wounded and bloody, and took no satisfaction in the look on the boy's face as he fled. For all of Albus's plots and schemes, for all of his manipulation and intuition, it meant nothing to Severus – another Potter saw him weak and useless, another Potter hated him. The Unbreakable Vow held Severus in his place and kept him there to do his duty, and he knew that he would lose more than Potter's good regard before it was done.  
  
The Dark Lord would not be so forgiving when he learned of Severus's betrayal – when he pierced through the shields and the acts to learn the truth. Severus, no more and no less than Potter, was a pawn in Albus's hands, a sacrifice ready to be made. For the sake of James, who'd never had the chance to live, who had died for freedom that he'd never known, Potter should have been more than a sacrifice and more than a tool. He should have been a boy, devoted to Quidditch and schoolwork.  
  
Albus sent the boy chasing after the Dark Lord, gave him clues and traps and puzzles. He'd send him into danger unprotected. He would see the death and destruction of the last thing of James that was left on this earth.  
  
Severus pushed Filch away without thanking him for his help, and strode out of the room, robes billowing around him. If it came to that, if his Vow allowed, if there was a way to keep something of James alive in this world – he would protect the boy.   
  
In spite of his faults, Harry was the very image of his father.

\----------

Severus controlled his breathing. The hitch of his diaphragm, the small movements of belly and shoulders were minimized, and he was as still as stone.   
  
The Pensieve sat uncovered on the table, silver mists swirling in the shallow bowl, and Severus did not make a move toward it. From his high vantage point, he saw figures moving in the mist, smiling faces and frowns and tears. Albus's memories –  
  
He had not touched the Pensieve when Albus strode into the room, his star-spangled robes a splash of color in the gathering darkness. "Severus," he said. He shrugged off his cloak and hung it on the hook next to Fawkes. "I see that you've learned something in all the years that you've been here."  
  
Quiet breath after quiet breath, Severus was silent. He had learned the art of stillness, had perfected it under a hard master. He had no reactions for Albus to read.  
  
"I have learned many things here at Hogwarts," he said, "but I don't know what you're referring to now."  
  
Albus gestured to the Pensieve. "You've learned not to eavesdrop, haven't you? I set wards around the desk that would alert me if you had touched it."  
  
Severus's breath caught in his throat. He waited, forcing himself to take a deep breath, forcing himself to be silent for a long moment. There was nothing that he could do to convince Albus that he was not irredeemably Dark. "After all the vows that I have sworn, you still do not trust me. You let the Potter brat – no, you encourage him to sneak around the castle, playing the hero, spying on his professors and breaking all the school rules. If _he_ eavesdrops, it's for the good of the world and all of our salvation.  
  
"When I eavesdrop, I am still the Slytherin, the unclean serpent, the untrusted one."  
  
He turned to leave, but Albus was standing in the doorway. He put out a hand, almost touching Severus's shoulder. His fingers hovered in the air, and he reached for Severus but never touched him.   
  
"I never trusted Gellert," Albus said. "At first, I – and then he –  
  
"You must understand. What Harry does is something that I can trust him to do."  
  
Severus slipped past him and paused on the stairs. "You can love a Dark wizard, Albus, and you can love that brat, and you can treat me like the pariah that you see me as."  
  
There was no choice – trust or test, faith or folly, Severus was bound by his Vow. He stalked down to the dungeons, students scattering before him like reeds in a cyclone.  
  
\----------  
  
"There's a trick to it," Albus said, leaning against his desk. "It's like giving fairies their wings – you simply have to wish for it."  
  
His thoughts glittered like quicksilver in the Pensieve, and Severus stared at him. He was still and dark, a quiet crow set against Albus's glittering peacock, and no comparisons were possible.   
  
"You can wish for it because you need to be unburdened of the memory – but a ghost of it will remain with you, remember that. It won't leave you entirely, but it'll become less vivid, less personal. You'll lose the emotional connection that you had with the memory."  
  
Severus nodded. His teacup clinked against its saucer as he shifted in his chair, and he set it aside. The tea was cool and Albus had heaped spoonful after spoonful of sugar into it before handing it to Severus. It was nothing that he wanted.  
  
"If you're sharing memories with a friend, for example – or with me, if you need to show me something for Order business," Albus continued, "then that is what you need to wish for. It's very simple, really."  
  
"There's no need for you to patronize me like a simpering first-year Hufflepuff who can't tell the inside of a cauldron from the outside."  
  
Albus only twinkled, pretending not to hear him. "And of course, you can use the Pensieve to store memories for your safety. If you want to keep Voldemort from knowing about your past – your affection for Lily, for example –"  
  
Severus did not fidget or react at the use of his lie. He watched Albus and said nothing – in spite of Albus's secrets, in spite of the bright young man who had become the Dark Lord, in spite of Albus's emphasis on love, Severus would not tell him. One secret was all that he kept to himself – James was his, and nothing that Albus did would pry that secret away from Severus.  
  
"-then you need only to focus on that and wish for it. Are you ready to give it a try?" He passed the Pensieve to Severus, and at the look in his eyes, Severus knew that his secret was still safe. Albus did not know.  
  
\----------  
  
Severus flew as high as magic could take him – the school was a dollhouse, the children mere specks. Their cauldrons and explosions were invisible from this height, and they were someone else's problem.   
  
Their faces were invisible, and none of them resembled James Potter.   
  
When Severus landed, he came to the earth with a thud, knowing the truth. He was awkward, heavy, earthbound, and had none of the grace that came to him when he flew. The wind was his ally, the air his only weapon – in flight as well as speech – and without it, he did nothing.   
  
Albus was waiting for him in the Headmaster's tower, where the light sparkled through the window and cast a pretty pattern on the frosted lawn and frozen lake. It was a beacon, pulling Severus out of the cold and into the warmth.   
  
Albus would be there, and Albus would force him to teach the Potter boy. After everything, Occlumency was inevitable. Severus pursed his lips, folding his arms across his chest, and slipped his hands into his billowing sleeves for warmth. He strode through the Entrance Hall and to the Headmaster's office, glaring at the gargoyles until they opened the door for him.  
  
"Forgotten the password again, have you?" Albus asked. He chided Severus for terrorizing the gargoyles and the students, but he took and used Severus's vitriol and sharp tongue when it served his purposes.  
  
Albus had a certain look on his face when he spoke of love. It was always something ineffable, something about the set of his mouth or the number of wrinkles around his eyes, but Severus recognized it now and sat down in the offered chair, steeling himself.  
  
"Life is the most important power in this world, and Severus – I know that you don't believe me," he said. Fawkes called from his perch, a single liquid note that hung in the air like a drop of oil in water. It ran down Severus's spine, and he sighed.   
  
"Yes, yes," Albus said. "There's no need for you to roll your eyes at me or count the seconds until I let you leave. You know that I'm right – love is the strongest power. It saved Harry from Voldemort, and I do believe that it can save us all, in the end. The love that Lily had – quite frankly, it saved her husband from a foolish, dissolute life, and it saved her son from an early death."  
  
"Potter didn't need her," Severus said. His jaw tightened as Albus gave him that look again.  
  
"Be that as it may, he became a good man in the end. I know that you never cared much for the Gryffindors, but you watch over Harry now and you must admit that there's something missing from his life – something that only you can give him."  
  
"Enough detention to keep his arrogance from swelling to swamp the entire castle?"  
  
"A memory of his parents, Severus. He was loved so deeply by them – by Lily, especially – and he has no memory of them. Don't you think that you ought to …."  
  
"No." Severus rose, striding towards the door. He took three steps before Dumbledore stopped him, locking him in place with a spell.   
  
Even frozen, Severus shuddered. He would not share his memories of James with Potter.  
  
"He needs to know love in order to be ready for the war that is to come. He will not win unless –"  
  
"You have plenty of memories of Potter and Evans both, Headmaster. Invite him here for tea and crumpets and a swan-dive into your Pensieve."  
  
Severus craned his neck to see the Pensieve in the cupboard behind the Headmaster. The door was ajar, and he saw the silver mist swirling in it, the braids and whorls of memories mixing together. Fawkes gave another low cry, and Severus broke free from the spell that held him in place.  
  
"I am not going to be the one teaching him Occlumency," Albus said. "And my memories of the Potters are not the same as yours – I saw them as students, while you saw them as peers. For all the love that you had for Lily, can you not let her son see her once?"  
  
Albus kept secrets of his own, and Severus … it behooved a spy not to know. He traced the edge of his poison tooth, probing at it with his tongue. "I'll do it," he said.  
  
"Excellent –"  
  
"I'll do it … if you allow me half an hour with your Pensieve. Whatever secrets you have in there now, whatever thoughts that you've wanted to sort through or categorize – Voldemort, your own schooldays, your perception of Potter. I want something for myself this once, Headmaster."  
  
Albus hesitated and then nodded, stepping away from the cabinet. "Be my guest."  
  
The memories twisted and twirled around Severus, silver vapor grasping at him, and he fell and fell, landing nowhere and finding purchase on nothing. The memories slipped through his fingers until he landed at last, breathless and shaken.   
  
Severus had caught a glimpse of this man before, had seen him in Albus's mind, in every old newspaper and textbook. He'd been history when Severus was a student – Gellert Grindelwald, Albus's secret.  
  
He stood on the top step of a ladder, reaching into the leafy branches of a lemon tree. Albus steadied the ladder, his grip firm.   
  
The tree shook. Gellert began tossing down lemons, but instead of landing with thumps on the ground, they arced to land neatly in a wicker basket at the base of the ladder. "Stop," Albus said. "We don't need so many –"  
  
"Just wait," Gellert called down to him. "Just wait until you taste them – candied lemons, sweet and sour and luscious. You'll wish that Aunt Bagshot had an entire orchard of lemon trees."  
  
Albus helped him clamber down the ladder, and his hand lingered on Gellert's arm. The memory dissolved around Severus, swirling away like wine mixed into water.   
  
Cold – he felt a dense and penetrating cold when he landed in the next memory. It stole through his body and ached in his bones, and he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth, despite how insubstantial and ineffective the effort. Nothing took the cold away.  
  
The corridor stretched on and on, shadow after shadow, door after door – Albus was nowhere to be seen. Severus took a step, and his foot contacted firm stone. Nothing collapsed, the memory didn't disappear, but Albus was not there. Severus reached out, feeling his way along the wall. This memory –   
  
"Azkaban prison," Albus said, stepping forward out of the shadows. He looked straight through Severus, and took another step. They stood nose to nose, and Albus reached through Severus, tracing the stones in the wall.  
  
He was old – older than he had been in the last memory, his hair again silvery and his face lined. His eyes did not twinkle.   
  
He went to the first door, scratching a rune on the archway, and stepped into it. "Azkaban prison," he said, "and its host of Dementors. It's enough to drive the weak into madness, but you've never been weak – have you, Severus?"  
  
Severus did not look into the cell. He didn't want to know how Albus had seen him on that day – shaking, pathetic in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest and his teeth rattling together. He closed his eyes … of all the memories –   
  
"Please, sir," he heard himself say. "Have mercy – I swear, I'll do anything, only set me free. Let me get out of here. Give me another chance."  
  
"You were captured," Albus said. "You were found outside the Prewett's house, and Gideon and Fabian were dead, with Voldemort's mark in the sky."  
  
"I didn't do it. I'll take Veritaserum, I'll swear – I swear on my mother's grave, I didn't do it. I've never killed –"  
  
"Oh, I will make you swear it." Severus watched shadows flit over Albus's face and saw his wrinkles deepen as he frowned. He'd never known how tired Albus was when he made the offer. He'd never realized that Albus had held the doorframe for support while he spoke, he hadn't seen the muscles in his jaw clench. Of all the secrets that Albus kept, this was one that Severus had never suspected.  
  
A Dementor drifted close then, and Severus shuddered, stepping out of its path. They were drawn to hope, to light and goodness – the guards had not kept them away for long enough.  
  
He had shivered, and Albus had touched him then, his fingers cupping Severus's jaw, and it was the first warmth that Severus had known in weeks. "Of course," he said. "Of course you deserve another chance."   
  
Albus chased the Dementor away with a Patronus, and his silver phoenix flew through the cell, crying triumphantly before it landed on Albus's shoulder. Silver and black swirled around Severus, and he fell upwards with a painful wrench.   
  
"That's enough," Albus said, pulling Severus out of the Pensieve and shaking him hard. "That's your half hour."  
  
Severus's teeth rattled as he nodded, and he shook with the cold of the last scene. He pulled himself straight, never showing that he was affected by the Pensieve, and turned to leave. "Yes," he said. "I will teach the boy and show him my memory of his parents."  
  
\----------  
  
Severus had caught a wisp of a memory – a tiny little thing, it was more transparent than silver. He held it in the cuff of his sleeve and carried it down to his chambers. He took out his own Pensieve, and shook the memory into it, touching the wisp with his smallest finger.  
  
He was in the garden again, underneath the leafy lemon tree, and Albus and Gellert were there still. Dusk had gathered the shadows close, and a cool breeze passed through Severus. He stepped closer to the tree, out of the wind, and watched.  
  
Albus spread a blanket under the tree – navy blue, it twinkled with sparkling stars, and Albus glowed in their light. He held out a hand to Gellert. "Come," he said. "Your aunt won't be home for hours yet."  
  
Gellert went to Albus readily, kissing him and slipping his robe off his shoulders. "Anyone could see us here," he murmured between kisses, "even the Muggles."  
  
"Don't," Albus said. "Don't talk about that – don't talk about anyone else now." He slipped out of his robe, baring his pale skin, and reached for Gellert.   
  
They lay together, kissing every inch of skin, stroking and caressing, and Severus did not avert his eyes. He watched Albus kneel between Gellert's thighs and suck his prick, and he watched Albus come, his semen staining the dark blanket. This was Albus's secret, and Severus shared it now.  
  
\----------  
  
When Severus made a bargain, he always came out the winner by it. He had Albus's secrets now, and … Albus had not specified a memory, so Severus was left free to choose the method of revealing it. He had nothing to lose.  
  
There was nothing that he could teach Potter about Occlumency – he wore his heart on his sleeve, he was a Gryffindor martyr and unable to keep a secret to save his soul – but Severus let the lessons drag on and on, painful session after painful session.  
  
When Potter's knees had worn hollows in the floor and his regard for Severus was at its lowest, Severus judged that it was time. He had a student summon him, and he left the Pensieve where Potter could see it.   
  
Even as he stood outside the door, silent and waiting, he knew what Potter saw.  
  
Without the memory in his mind, Severus saw it clearly – there was none of the mockery, none of the burning shame. It snapped into focus, and he saw James reject his overtures, mock his flirtation, and use his own spell against him, hanging him midair and humiliating him.  
  
He saw himself lose any chance of James's affections – he'd called Evans a Mudblood, and that was unforgivable by Potter's standards. No, Severus had never had any hope of his love, but to lose it –   
  
He had twisted the memory for Potter's viewing. No hint of flirtation, no hint of Severus's feelings for his father, there was nothing there that Potter could see. One humiliation, no worse than a thousand he'd suffered – one friend lost, the only one he'd had – it was not all that had happened. There was very little of Severus left in that Pensieve. He'd been greasy and awkward and unwanted, but Potter knew that already, as his father had known it.   
  
Severus waited long enough for him to see the memory, and then burst into the room, and used it as an excuse to end the lessons. He'd no longer tolerate Potter's presence – he would no longer be mocked.  
  
James was dead, and Harry was all that was left of him. Gellert was gone, and Albus was left without him. Severus lingered in his office, not going up to the Headmaster's tower to tell him that the Occlumency lessons were over. Albus had his own ways of knowing.  
  
Severus tilted the Pensieve, looking down into its misty depths. Albus had his own ways of knowing, and Severus had his secrets. He had his own ways of hiding – he had these memories here, left for Potter to see, left here in Albus's Pensieve to leave a thought-residue that he would see. He had his precious memories in his own Pensieve.  
  
Albus had never trusted Severus, had bound him with the strongest oath and had not trusted him, even then. Severus had never been given cause to trust him – false smile after smile, secret after secret, and orders that always put Severus in peril. He'd spy for Albus until he died, but he'd never trust the man.   
  
Severus had let the chill of the dungeons sink into his bones. He rose, bones creaking, and stretched until he felt tendons and ligaments give their fullest. He touched his poison tooth with his tongue – yes, he would use this body while he could, and he would keep his secrets safe. There was no other way.  
  
Albus had Gellert, had memories of love and fucking and warmth, and Severus had nothing. He had a Vow and a duty, he was bound to care for James's boy – and in the end, he'd never have anything more than that. James had loved Lily, and there'd be nothing for Severus in the afterlife, no sweet embraces waiting and no chance of love. Blinking, Severus saw Albus's memory again – Albus, wrapped up with Gellert, the two of them coupling under the lemon tree. Severus had never known such touches.  
  
He rose, leaving his office. The hem of his robe trailed along the floor with the slightest whisper of sound as he walked. Winter left his skin dry and his hair oily – he kept salve and healing potions in his own quarters, and they provided some measure of relief.  
  
There was a divot in the floor at the foot of Severus's bed. He pressed it with his toe, and a panel slid aside, the stone grinding as it moved, and exposed a shallow hole. He'd carved it out with his own magic, not trusting the castle or the house elves. He'd fought the stone for every inch of space – the castle did not give up her own substance, her own solid stone, with any ease or grace, but in the end, Severus had won a space large enough to store his Pensieve. He lifted it out of the hollow, cradling it with careful fingers, and carried it to his writing desk.  
  
Firelight flickered over the silver strands of memory, a flash of gold and warmth that was quickly overcome and buried. The mists of his own memories were dark and tarnished, never as bright and pure as the thoughts that Albus had, a constant reminder that Severus was not of the light. The mist swallowed the light, beckoning him, and Severus closed his eyes before reaching out to touch it.   
  
He fell through the heaving silver fog, and Severus knew that he'd never share these memories, not with Albus, and not with Potter.  
  
The rat had betrayed James. There was no rhyme or reason in trust or friendship, no reason behind the betrayal, and James – James had died for nothing.  
  
Severus watched himself take a step away from Albus and go to stand next to his Pensieve. "Black was always dangerous, and that werewolf even more so. Your precious Potter and his little friends would have been dead tonight from his carelessness, if it was not that someone –"  
  
The office was just as Severus remembered it, Albus was just as he remembered him, but the memory was complete now, not the shred he carried with him every day – it was thick with despair and loss, thick with the absence of James and Gellert. Neither Severus nor Albus had the man they loved, and they were not drawn together by their loss. Albus stared at Severus, his eyes twinkling cold blue.  
  
"He's an innocent man. Even you would not be so cruel as to condemn him to Azkaban again."  
  
"You've never been incarcerated there, Headmaster – you wouldn't know what the bastard deserves."  
  
"Severus –"  
  
One word was enough, and Severus was bound by his Vow to obey. He bowed his head and stopped, looking Albus in the eye. "You put the students, including Potter, at risk when you allow a werewolf to be a Professor here at Hogwarts."  
  
"Look at yourself before you criticize others," Albus said. "A little forgiveness goes a long way."  
  
Potter had no sense of self-preservation – he had dashed down the tunnel in pursuit of his friend, he had risked his life again and again. There was no way for Severus to keep James's son alive and safe.  
  
Severus watched his memory-self bow his head and leave the office, slamming a hex at the gargoyles as he went down the stairs. Potter had not known. He had not known the true identity of the man who betrayed his parents – he had trusted the escaped convict and pardoned the traitor.   
  
For Severus, there could be neither pardon nor trust – Albus would grant neither to him, James would grant neither to him, Potter would grant neither to him. He scraped his knuckles against the wall as he strode through the corridors of the school, flicking his wand to illuminate the dimmest corners with light. The tip of his wand blazed in the darkness, and he sent more than one student scurrying back to their dormitories with the promise of detention or more hanging over them. For tonight, at least, Potter was not among their numbers – he was safe in the hospital wing, unless Albus manufactured a crisis for the boy or Granger meddled with her Time-Turner.   
  
Severus had seen it all, all the events of the evening. Nothing was blurred in the Pensieve, and Albus had had an excellent vantage. His spies oversaw every foot of the castle.  
  
"You'll need to know how to deal with Harry," Albus had said. "You'll need to know how he reacts in a crisis, how he fights in battle, how he reasons when he's angry or upset. One day, the fate of the war may rest on your ability to convey some piece of information to him, Severus, and if I can do anything to ensure it, you will be prepared."  
  
He hadn't responded to Severus's quip about dusty prophecies and batty shrews. He had ignored all of Severus's objections, had brushed over the fact that Severus was not in the least interested in Potter's actions or thoughts.   
  
Severus pulled himself out of the memory by force, his fingers scraping against the stone sides of the Pensieve. He pressed hard enough to leave bruises, and shoved the Pensieve back into its niche.   
  
\----------  
  
Before he died, Albus went to visit Gellert. Severus watched him leave, and watched him return, dusty with travel, but he didn't know what happened between the two of them in the fastness of Nurmengard.  
  
Albus had shared secret after secret with Potter, but only Severus knew of his deepest secret – only Severus knew of his love. This was something more, this was something that he would never know, and he held Albus's elbow as he climbed the stairs, supporting him. He was careful never to touch the Horcrux-ruined hand – it pained him, and worsened the spread of the poison. They'd learned that early on.  
  
"I must tell you," Albus said, leaning on Severus. "In order to defeat Voldemort, Harry has to die."  
  
He did not hear Severus's protests – he did not hear a word. The lines around his eyes had deepened, and he pushed Severus away, sitting heavily in his chair. He gripped the edge of the desk and Severus poured tea for them both. He added no sugar, and Albus didn't seem to notice.  
  
With a flick of his wand, Severus thought of James, James as he'd seen him last – still alive in Harry, green-eyed and almost happy. He took a deep breath and twisted the spell – for Albus, he twisted it, thinking of Lily and not of James. It weakened the magic, and his Patronus shot out of his wand, silver-wispy and insubstantial, fainter than a memory. It arced through the window, disappearing into the east, rosy with the rising sun.  
  
"After all this time?"  
  
"Always," Severus said, and it was always James, never Lily, but he did not share that. The secrets of his heart, he kept to himself. Albus gave him a tired smile.   
  
"Forever is a very long time, even for love."   
  
\----------  
  
The Carrows had erased every memory of James from Hogwarts. Severus found nothing there now – Albus's portrait was there to chide him, and the students were there to reproach him with their very presence, but there was nothing more for him.  
  
Potter was in the forest, out of the Dark Lord's reach, and Severus had no way to know if he was safe or if he had completed his tasks. He had never trusted Albus, and now he was forced to wait and trust. Now he was trusted.  
  
The sword was his, one of the keys to the battle, and Albus had left it in his keeping. He'd given his secrets to Potter, but he'd given the last task to Severus, and it was small consolation. Severus would be the one to tell James's son to die.   
  
He skimmed his fingers across the smooth glass bubble he kept in the drawer. The thinnest glass, the faintest mist – Severus had caught a memory from Albus, the day he returned from Nurmengard. A flick of his finger as Albus, slumped at his desk, filled his Pensive, mist spilling out onto the smooth wood of the table – a wisp of memory caught in his hand and pocketed – it was all that he had taken.  
  
Albus had shared all of his secrets with Potter, but Severus kept something of his, something to remember him by. He had vial after vial in his personal stockroom, all of them in a neat row and filled with gleaming sherbet lemons. He had a wisp of memory. He had his duty.  
  
He had the silent company of Albus's portrait now, for all the good that it did him. Severus pulled the glass bubble from the drawer and rolled it on the palm of his hand. "Sentimental frippery never got you anywhere, did it?" he asked the portrait.  
  
Oil paint, canvas and carved wood – it was as though there was no spark of magic left. Albus never spoke to him, and Severus knew what he needed to do. He straightened his shoulders, slipping the bauble back into his desk. He had his duty, after all.  
  
And it was such a selfish little theft, a wisp of a precious memory – just the two of them, Albus and Gellert sitting on a stone prison bench, next to a window that looked out onto nothing – it had been something to Albus, but it was nothing to Severus. The moment when their hands touched, the space between them disappeared. Their hands were white and frail against the grey stone.   
  
They had shared a cup of tea, porcelain and water conjured by Albus's magic. Gellert was thin and he stared at Albus as if there was nothing else to see, as if he had been blind all these years without him. When Albus moved to leave, Gellert moved after him – Albus gave him his cloak, wrapping him in it, and the memory faded into nothing.   
  
Severus did not know if they had kissed. He didn't know if they had shared more than the chaste touch of hand to hand, if they had shared more than a cup of tea, kisses passing from each to each over the porcelain rim. Not knowing, his fingers lingered on the handle of the drawer, smoothing the grain of the wood. It was all that he had of Albus now, after all these years and all these secrets.  
  
The portraits whispered among themselves, and none of them answered to him. He was an interloper in Albus's place and had none of his power – Phineas Nigellus and the other Slytherins answered to him, but the Gryffindors were too stupid to fear the threats of fire and paint remover.   
  
This, as far as immortality went, was as much as Albus accepted. Sentimental frippery and ideals about death as a great adventure – whatever part of him had been left behind to animate the portrait, it did not hold him back from that. He did not stay for Severus.  
  
As the year drew to a close and the days grew colder, Severus watched Albus's portrait more and more. He ran his tongue along the edge of his poison tooth – he walked on the edge with Voldemort, but he could not afford to die now, not before he spoke to Harry.   
  
It was Phineas Nigellus who found them, chance words overheard through cloth and darkness. Severus had no time to thank him – he rushed through the wards, sending students scattering in all directions as he went. They feared him, and the Carrows did not dare to detain him.   
  
He had the sword in his pocket, shrunken until it was a tiny pinprick of silver, jabbing into his palm and breaking through the skin. When he moved through the forest, he was silent, and the frozen ground made no noise under his feet. A charm, a spell, a trick – he hid himself from Harry and his friend, and spied upon them while they were unawares. Potter sat at the entrance of the tent, almost asleep … Severus drew closer to him, close enough to touch him, and Potter did not stir.   
  
With his eyes closed, the green hidden, he looked exactly like his father. The curve of his lips, the fall of his hair – he was James, he was all of James that was left in this world. He'd survived this long without Severus there to protect him. Drawing back, Severus shoved his hands in his pockets as if he'd been scorched.   
  
The forest was silent and cold around him. The wards that Potter had set around the tent were strong enough to hold – Severus passed through them only with difficulty, only because he was sworn to protect the boy. An Unbreakable Vow superseded most magics.   
  
There was a pool, in a clearing – something to challenge Potter, a mystery to tempt him, an adventure to thrill him. Albus had insisted that Severus needed to know how Potter thought, how he reacted, and he had been right. Severus knelt next to the pool of water, wiping the blood off on his black robes and pressing his palm to his lips. The copper smell of his blood burned his nose, and the sword had dug deep into his skin. He healed it with a flick of his wand.  
  
The pool was frozen, and the light from his wand reflected Severus back at himself. His face wavered in reflection, the sallow coloring washed out against the white glow of snow and ice, the harsh lines deepened and pitiless. He was no one to be trusted, and there was no way other than this to make Potter trust him.  
  
Lowering the sword into the pool, he froze the water over it, sealing it in. A challenge for Potter and a test of his skills – if he failed here, Severus's task would be all the harder. To lead him and bring him to sacrifice himself – to see to the defeat of the Dark Lord after all was lost – Severus pressed his palm against the ice, scraping tender flesh against the hard surface. Albus's platitudes ran in unending litany through his mind, and he stood, brushing the snow off his thighs.   
  
"Enough," he said, the word too quiet to echo. Stepping back into the shadows, he cast his Patronus toward Harry's tent. It was vanity, it was foolishness – but in the end, he did not twist the spell. He let his Patronus take its true form, let it appear to Harry as his father's form, and although he bit his lip, the cold of the night going through him and lodging in his bones, he did not regret it. Here, at the end of all things, he would not hide the truth.  
  
He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, and at last, Harry came. Chasing the silver stag, he stumbled into the clearing, and Severus banished his Patronus. He felt the last breath of magic, the last touch of the memory, and then the silver glow was gone.  
  
Potter knelt next to the pool. "Dad?" He searched the darkness, but Severus did not reveal himself.   
  
"Dad?" He saw the sword, but he did not attempt to retrieve it – he searched the darkness for James, and Severus was helpless. He had messages to give to Potter, Albus's last wishes to fulfill, and he could not do it yet. It was too early for Harry to know that he had to die.  
  
Albus had enjoyed a last day with Gellert, and James had seen Lily before he died. Severus had seen that – he had been merciless, searching through Potter's memories. He had found it, the cold and the Dementors and the memory of his mother's screams, and he had cherished it for James's last words. His last breath, his last –   
  
He had been cold and stiff when Severus found him, already moved from where he fell to lay cradled in his wife's arms. His last action had been to defend his son, and it was Severus who had been chosen to lead his son to the sacrifice. The story of the sword in the water, the king who came again to save his people in their hour of need – Severus would have made the story come true, if he could. Harry – he was the last remnant of James, but he was not his father.  
  
If he could save the boy – Severus shifted, stiff from the cold, and the sound gave his position away.  
  
"You," Harry said, his wand pointed straight at Severus's heart. "You –"  
  
Severus rose, his own wand raised. "I could kill you and make it look like an accident, boy. Don't try my patience –"  
  
"You don't have any."   
  
Potter raised his wand and cast a wordless spell. A silver stag chased the darkness away, circling around the two of them. Potter's face was streaked with dirt, his eyes huge in the dim light. "Tell me about it," he said. "Tell me – I need to know everything. You hated my father."  
  
Severus said nothing, and silence drove Potter to the edge of reason more surely than any words could have. Know him, Albus had said, and the knowledge served him now.   
  
"There is nothing for you to know," he said when Potter advanced on him, hands raised.   
  
"You hated my father, you killed Albus, you –"  
  
"I could bind you where you stand and drag you in front of Voldemort's throne," Severus said. "You cannot match me, Potter."  
  
Potter reached out to touch him, gripping his forearm. "You –"  
  
He was slow, and the stag faded while he held Severus in place. In the fading silver light, his breath left white puffs in the air. "Tonks," he said at last. "When she loved Remus, her Patronus changed to reflect it."  
  
Severus flicked the edge of his poison tooth with his tongue, testing the rough edges. After all these years a spy, he was undone by a boy. "Yes," he said, backing away from Potter. He leaned against a tree trunk, letting his hair fall around his face and hiding him from Potter's view. "Yes, I loved your father."  
  
"Then you –"  
  
Severus pushed him away. "The sword is in the pool, waiting for you. You've the task that Albus gave you, and you've the Dark Lord to defeat. Don't waste your time on me."  
  
"Don't patronize me," Potter said, grabbing Severus's arm again. "Don't assume that you always know what's best – don't think that you can brush me aside like that. My father –"  
  
"Your father is dead," Severus said, and shook Harry's hand away. Pointing his wand at him, Severus said, "Get on with your task, boy. Dive to fetch the sword, kill the Dark Lord, and rescue your Weasley princess from a fate worth than death, if you must, but _do it somewhere else_."  
  
The stag danced around them again, silver light illuminating the darkly shadowed tree trunks and the whispering of the leaves, and Potter did not go. "You know something that you're not telling me," he said.  
  
"I know many things that I haven't told you," Severus said. "You'd have learned at least some of them if you had paid attention in Potions."  
  
"Stop it – stop it. Tell me," Harry said. He sank to his knees, grabbing Severus's arm and pulling him down with him. He reached out, brushing the hair away from Severus's face, and his hand lingered there. With his eyes closed, he traced the line of Severus's skull, feeling the bones there.   
  
His fingers lingered, butterfly-soft, on Severus's temples. "You're only human, too," he whispered. "You – you loved my father."  
  
With his eyes closed, he looked like James. "Yes, I did."  
  
He caught Severus by surprise, casting the spell and augmenting it with touch. He slipped through all of Severus's shields, probing his thoughts as deftly as Albus might have done. "Let me in," he whispered, close enough to Severus that his breath pounded against Severus's temple. In the cold and the darkness, it was as though Harry was the only warmth, and Severus took a deep breath, trying to strengthen his shields.  
  
He failed. Potter took what he wanted, as he always had – he rifled through Severus's mind as he might have browsed through a library, taking all his memories of James. There was nothing that was not shadowed – no childhood memory of James that bore no mark of the man that he had become, no memory of James that was not overlaid with Harry. There was no memory of Harry that did not bear the knowledge of Severus's task.  
  
"You – you want – I'm meant to die," Harry said, his hand falling away from Severus's death. "I – to defeat Voldemort, I need to –"  
  
"I would not have told you so soon," Severus said. He did not touch Harry, could not touch him – he did not move to comfort him. "Put it from your mind – it does no good to dwell on it."  
  
Harry traced the jagged edges of his scar and blinked at Severus, his eyes bright in the darkness. "You don't understand," he said. "I – if I'm the last Hor-"  
  
"Don't speak of these things here."  
  
Harry was not James, and he accepted his passing with grace. There was no evasion, nothing except direct honesty as he looked at Severus. "Thank you."  
  
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Severus's cheek. "I –"  
  
"Get the sword," Severus said, pulling away from him. He yanked Harry to his feet and sent him toward the pool with a push. "Get the sword, and use it as needed. Albus said that you would know what to do with it – and Harry –"  
  
Harry turned back to look at Severus, and he had his fingers pressed to his lips as if to hold the touch of Severus there. "I don't think I can –"  
  
"You can," Severus told him. "You're James's son … you can and will do your duty."  
  
"I don't think I can forget you, Professor."  
  
The words fell into silence between them, and Harry reached toward Severus one last time before turning back to the pool and the sword. Severus watched him go, and did not come closer until Potter had stripped and plunged into the pool. Standing at the edge of the trees, he watched Weasley rescue him, watched the two of them emerge from the water wet and spluttering.   
  
He did not Apparate away until Potter was safe, and when he went back to Hogwarts, he closed his hand into a fist. The flesh pricked by Gryffindor's sword was still tender and healing.  
  
\----------  
  
Severus hovered on the brink between worlds, in the white light and mist. He felt the pull of both worlds. Nothing had a hold on him. He was not solid and he passed through mist and rocks equally, as though nothing existed, as though he did not exist.  
  
He'd fulfilled the last of the Vow, and Harry was free to fulfill the last of his destiny. They'd shared a last look, and Severus had seen him, truly seen him.   
  
There were solid walls in all the mist, and a low rumbling like the approach of a distant train. Severus felt the noise in his insubstantial bones, and he stepped forward.   
  
Albus was there, and Gellert was with him, and neither of them spared a glance for him. Severus watched as they pulled apart, Albus grasping Gellert by the arms and shaking him – he was too far away to hear them, but he saw them laugh. He saw them kiss, and Severus tried to draw closer.   
  
Distance meant nothing in this in-between place, and no matter how he struggled through the mist, he never came closer. This was not for him – he was trapped in the mist alone. Albus had Gellert and James had his Lily, and Severus – he had done his duty, and that was comfort enough. Harry had held him as he died, had touched his blood and had bent forth to give him a final kiss.   
  
It was enough. Severus turned in the mist, leaving Albus and Gellert. The world shook around him with the rattle of the approaching train, and he felt a strong pull – he hurtled through the mist, he was torn from the world. Gasping, he landed and opened his eyes.  
  
\----------  
  
The world was white and silver, and the light was far too strong. Blinking, Severus grasped for something solid.   
  
"I've got you," Harry said.   
  
His voice was a pleasant rumble in Severus's ear, and his hand was warm. "You came back to us."  
  
"I had a choice?" Severus struggled to sit up, and Harry moved behind him, supporting his back and conjuring pillows. Down flew through the air, and Severus coughed, blowing it out of his nose and mouth. It tickled, and the cough sent spasms through his body. Harry held him while he shook.  
  
"You had a choice," Harry said, "and you chose me over my father. Do you – Snape, could you –"  
  
"You've alive." He had died – Severus had sent him to his death –   
  
"I chose to come back, too. Albus told me that he saw you, and I … I hoped that you came back for me."  
  
Harry bent over him, his breath warm on Severus's skin, and traced the scars on his neck. "You died for me, and –"  
  
"I sent you to die." There was nothing more than that, Severus knew – he had been the one to send Harry to his death.   
  
"That was Albus –"  
  
"I did it, Potter. Is that too much for your Snitch-sized brain to understand?"  
  
Severus felt his throat close up, the muscles sore and strained. He moved to touch it – the scars were hard and hot to the touch, his skin drawn and puckered. He had sent Potter to follow his father in death, and he had survived. "Voldemort –"  
  
"Dead," Harry said, taking his hand. "He believed that he mastered the Elder Wand when he killed you, and that was enough. We won because of you … Severus."  
  
His green eyes glittered, and Severus turned his head away. "Don't – Don't romanticize it," he whispered. "Don't –"  
  
"After everything –"  
  
This was no time for sentimental frippery. Survival meant life and pain, nothing more – Severus refused to let Harry read more into it. "After everything, we should both be dead." He pulled his hand away from Potter's and closed his eyes, leaning back into the feather pillows. His head ached from the bright lights, and he put one hand to his neck, tracing the scars there.   
  
His breath caught in his throat. Harry bent close to him, touching his shoulder. "Get some sleep," he said. "Madam Pomfrey says that you just need rest and some time for the blood replenishing potions to do their work. I'll be back in the morning."  
  
The infirmary was not silent after Harry had left. The clink of glass vials, the tap-tap of Pomfrey's heels, the noises made by patients and the odor of the sickroom – Severus pulled his blankets closer, turning over onto his side. Every movement pained him.  
  
He would learn the list of the dead tomorrow … their names, their endings. Death Eaters who had not been able to turn to Albus and Order members who hadn't been saved – they had fallen, and Severus was now indebted to Potter for his life. He should have died … he should have been left for dead, but the breath rasped through his throat and his heart beat a ragged pulse through his veins.   
  
He should have died – he had been caught somewhere between life and death, and Harry had pulled him back. He had faced Voldemort, tongue tracing the shape of his poison tooth, and he had known that he would die, his duty done and his Vow fulfilled. Harry knew – Harry knew that he had to die to defeat Voldemort, and he was ready to do it. Severus had done everything that Albus had asked of him.  
  
He had saved James's son until the very end, and when he fell, it was with Harry's name on his lips. When he lay in his blood, it was Harry that came for him.  
  
"No," Harry had said, his lips pressed against Severus's throat and wet with his blood. "No – you have to live. You have to remember my father, you have to remember me. You knew me – Snape, Snape, don't die."  
  
"Look at me," Severus said. He remembered Harry, and always would. "Look at me –"   
  
He had held Severus close, and the last thing that Severus had seen before the white mist was Harry's eyes. Green as his mother's eyes – he was not James. "Don't –"  
  
"Don't," Harry said, sitting on the bed next to Severus. The mattress shifted, and Severus didn't look at him. "Don't think so much," Harry said.  
  
"Your appalling tendency to oversimplify matters, Potter, is what –"  
  
Harry put his fingers on Severus's lips. "Please don't … look, sometimes things don't need to be complicated. Sometimes … there could be something that's just you and me, and none of the complications. No Voldemort or Dumbledore, nothing of my dad or mum to interfere – just us, just as you came back for me and I came back for you."  
  
"You died," Severus said. Harry's fingers moved on his lips, tracing the shape of them over and over.   
  
"I came back for you." It was that simple for Harry. Severus took a deep breath, and Harry bent down to kiss him. "Come back for me."


End file.
